


the melody sings what the words can't say

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Sensory Processing Disorder, Stimming, anyways this one's called watch me project all my stims onto oscar for 4k words k bye, but apparently theres no relevant tags SOOO, like it literally barely counts and its barely mentioned but wanna be safe, shutdown, technically not, these arent tags ???? what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: Over the rest of the day, the haze under his skin only grew worse, his nerves buzzing and numb, his eyes tired, blurred. Everything felt…too far away, like a gap had opened between himself and his skin and reality itself, and it left him cold and weak in its wake.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna & Oscar Pine, Jaune Arc & Oscar Pine, Oscar Pine & Everyone, Oscar Pine & Lie Ren, Oscar Pine & Nora Valkyrie, Oscar Pine & Ruby Rose, Ozpin & Oscar Pine, Qrow Branwen & Oscar Pine
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	the melody sings what the words can't say

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off a weird combo of my own experiences with some headcanon!! nobody ever seems to talk about the hyposensitive side of things and i felt like some good ole Projecting TM in this chilis tonight

His day started...fine. Perfectly average. Everything was quiet - too quiet, he realized, tensing, then relaxed when he found Ozpin only still asleep. The man’s usual background interference (thoughts, emotions, warmth) stayed distant and muffled. Oscar stretched; it was still pretty early, he supposed, and disentangled from bed to seek out coffee.

The kitchen held several others in various states of awareness. On the table, Jaune sat slumped over with his head pillowed on his arms and Nora sprawled against his back, barely still in her own chair. Oscar huffed, half a yawn and half a laugh, before swiveling in the direction of the coffee maker they were undoubtedly waiting on. Ruby sat on the counter next to it, three empty mugs at her side, and she blinked before breaking into a grin and pulling a fourth from the cabinet at the sight of him.

“Good morning,” she whispered, feet swinging well above the ground. The sound of her voice was soft, fuzzy and hard to hear, and he shook his head briefly before wiggling his fingers in a greeting. “Black, right?”

“Mhn,” he agreed, stifling another yawn. The cold under his feet was too much, so he hopped up on the counter with the coffee maker between them. The next time he blinked, there was a warm mug in his hands and a pat on his knee before Ruby padded over to the table, graciously rescuing his teammates from anything worse than a light doze.

The mug was too hot to drink from. But it smelled so good - strong, reaching some numbed part of himself that needed the wake-up call - and the way the porcelain burned his palms soothed his skin. He gripped it tighter, held it closer, resisted the urge to test how hot the liquid inside was with his bare hands.

He took a long sip, half-regretting it, but it chased away a chill that had little to do with the temperature of the room and left the world less faded and grey.

* * *

The effects of the coffee didn’t last long. Well, no - the caffeine perked him up and kept him from falling back asleep at the table; he sipped slowly with his hands wrapped flush around the mug and blinked away lingering sleep. But as the mug lost heat, so did his skin.

When it cooled to nothing more than a slight warmth, he drained the rest of the mug and ducked his head to fidget with his hair. At the movement of his fingers, the bandages around his hand began to loosen and he sighed. Trust them to not last as long as his old ones - he unraveled the free end, then rewound it as tight as he could without cutting off circulation.

“Oscar, would you like to train with us today?” Ren stood at the kitchen doorway, having crossed from the living room, before his face shifted and he gave Oscar an appraising look. “Are you alright?”

Oscar nodded hastily, an odd sense of guilt curling in his stomach at the thought of causing worry. “All good,” he promised. And the idea of sparring, while very enticing and probably exactly what he needed, simply felt like more energy than he had. “Maybe no training today, though.”

Ren frowned barely, opening his mouth, but- “Ren!” He snapped his mouth shut with a jagged huff at the sound of Nora’s call. “Let’s goo _oo_!!”

Oscar waved a hand in his direction, ignoring the rasp of bandages against the inside of his wrist. “It’s fine, I’ll watch for a bit. Just…” He paused to collect his thoughts, mouth tugging downwards at the haze he found. “...just tired today, I guess.”

Ren narrowed his eyes just a fraction. “If you say so,” he conceded, then held out a hand. “I’m sure Nora and Jaune would love to show you their new combo.”

“Of course,” he grinned, shuffling closer to accept the hold, pleased when Ren squeezed Oscar’s hand in his.

* * *

The midmorning sun beat down on his shoulders, sticky and hot. In the distance, his three teammates clashed and parried, calling out attacks and running drills that Oscar had lost track of about...half an hour ago, if he was being honest.

On any other day, his other half would be all bright-eyed ‘n bushy-tailed at the idea of picking apart their fighting styles and explaining them for Oscar, but... radio silence. Oscar frowned. “Oz?” No response. “Oz, you there?”

It took a second much too long for Oz to stir, barely shifting and barely there. _I apologize. I have not...had much energy today._

“Me neither,” Oscar agreed, playing with his fingers and curling his toes in his shoes, back and forth, back and forth. “I think today is one of those days.”

Oz only sighed. _Well, in that case...I promise I’ll try to stay close, but…_

Oscar shook his head lightly. “I know. Do what you have to. I’m gonna try to keep it from getting too bad. Just...don’t drift somewhere you can’t find your way back from, ‘kay?”

_Mm. I will not._ And then silence, just _barely_ disturbed by the usual feel of Ozpin’s presence. Oscar slowly released his breath, grinding his shoe into the dirt and pulling up a few stray clumps of grass.

“HEY, OSCAR-” In the middle of the field, Nora raised her weapon and let loose a battle cry. “WATCH!” And with a ferocious strike of lightning - Oscar blinked and recoiled as it split the ground, before jumping to his feet to cheer. The sound of thunder boomed not a second later and it shook him to the center of his chest, filling him completely, and he grinned.

He could do this. He _could_.

* * *

He could not.

Over the rest of the day, the haze under his skin only grew worse, his nerves buzzing and numb, his eyes tired, blurred. Everything felt…too far away, like a gap had opened between himself and his skin and reality itself, and it left him cold and weak in its wake.

Maybe it was how his bandages kept unravelling, failing to provide the pressure they usually did. Maybe it was how empty and quiet the house was, chilled in the absence of other people, either in town or in their rooms. Maybe it was Oz, just out of reach, exhausted and numb himself. Maybe…maybe it was just a bad sensory day, for no reason at all.

Either way: he scratched lightly at his arms, watching a blush rise to the surface in thin swipes and feeling the slight pain that came with. He needed something. Anything. _Everything._

A few more light scratches at his arms, not enough to do damage, not because of negativity, but just to feel something sharp and hot. He curled his hands into fists, dug his fingernails into his palms, and hit the tops of his thighs. These _helped_ but - he still felt so disconnected and he couldn’t _fix_ it.

A burn rose in his throat. Oscar didn’t know how to get free of this - he needed something encompassing and heavy, something that would drag him back down to earth. Something to hold him together before he fell apart. He spun in place, enjoying the feedback he got from the motion but dizzy and weak on his feet nonetheless.

Nothing. Frustrated tears came unbidden and he scrubbed them away roughly, barely feeling it, before his eyes landed on the desk shoved in the corner of the living room. The gap between it and the side wall....well, he was a small boy. And if it would help… Oscar shifted in place, near-unable to get himself to move, breaths harsh in his chest. It wouldn’t do him - either of them - good if he panicked, but he couldn’t make himself _move_ and he was _alone_ and everything was so dull and beige and _not enough._

He dove for the little corner, wiggling until his back was to one wall, sides pressed against by the side wall and the desk. It was better, still not enough, but better, but he was still alone and everything was still far too quiet and hazy and he was rocking back and forth backandforth and his vision had gone blurry enough that he couldn’t make out detail, just vague shapes and oh, he was _terrified_ now what if he was stuck floating, drifting like this what if this was all he would ever get, what if-

Footsteps shaking the ground under him. He burst into tears with relief and frustration and fear, raising his own shaking hands to feel his face and play with his hair, twirling it over and over and over. Not alone. He trusted them. His team would help. Heavier pairs, lighter pairs - some faster than others - he shrank back instinctually, but he wasn’t scared of them. Just scared of how stuck he felt, trapped with the dull and the insufficient and the exhausting; his voice caught on another sob, and he hid his eyes behind his fingers.

“Ren, maybe you should-” But just the _thought_ of Ren’s semblance had him shaky and panicked. He didn’t need more grey, he couldn’t stand more _grey_ , not like this-

“No,” he sobbed, flinching away, suddenly afraid, “please, no-” He didn’t have the words. He whined high in his throat, twisting his fingers roughly a few times before flapping his hands as hard as he could and then tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging, tugging-

A new voice, lighter, closer. “No, that’ll make it worse, trust me- hey, Oscar, it’s okay-” It sounded like Blake, distant and concerned, gripping his hands tightly and pulling them away. The squeezing grip had his breath shuddering with relief, and he relaxed the muscles in his hands instantly as someone else slipped something firm over his ears.

A pair of bulky headphones. Music. He blinked, pausing to soak in the beat. It was something loud, electronic, with lots of bass and drums and guitar, and before he could process anything else, his hands went to press them harder against his ears. In front of him, Ruby knelt, offering the phone in her hand. He couldn’t make out the words on the screen, vision still far too blurry, but that couldn’t stop him from reaching out and punching the volume up button a few times. Her mouth twisted into a laugh, and she squeezed his hand in hers before letting it go.

He shuffled further back into his space, trying for a tighter fit; the side of the desk and the wall kept him pinned and from falling apart, but with each passing second, his brain got used to the input and sought more, more more more that he couldn’t provide.

A hand, steady on his shoulder. He snapped his eyeline up again, blinking past the fog, and took an ear off at Blake’s gesture. “Better?” The girl asked.

Oscar dropped the phone in his lap to free his hands, rotating his left wrist rapidly in time with the bounce of his leg. He merely shrugged, right hand tilting in a so-so motion; only time would fix this. Time, sleep, blasting music as loud as his ears could stand, and whatever input he could get. “Verbal?” Blake pressed, short and simple. Oscar aggressively shook his head no, too tired to consider even opening his mouth. “I know you need the tight space right now, but I think I have something better.”

And then there was a flash of red above Blake’s head, and Nora beamed down at him from over her shoulder. “Do you want a Nora hug?” She grinned, arms spread wide, clad in a tank top and shorts. Her hair was pulled back in a little ponytail.

_Yes_ he absolutely wanted a Nora hug. He _needed_ a Nora hug.

He couldn’t wiggle free fast enough. Ruby’s phone clattered to the floor, forgotten instantly, but thankfully the headphones were wireless and remained firmly over one ear. He took one, two steps and crashed into her embrace, clutching tightly as she enveloped him in the most secure hug he’d ever experienced in his life. “I gotcha,” she said, both arms looping around his middle and bracing against each other at the small of his back; before he could blink again, she’d lifted him directly up to use his own weight to hold him tighter.

They just _stood_ like that for a few minutes, Oscar clinging for dear life as he more or less swung in Nora’s hold, the older girl keeping her grip firm and spinning them every once in a while. The momentum pulled at him and wasn’t something he knew he needed, but each time she did it he giggled and hid his face in her neck to feel her pulse against his cheek. (He was grateful her hair was pulled back; light touch would just set him off again, and he was _tired_.) “You gotta tell us when you start feeling like this, Oscar,” she spoke quietly. Her voice was lowered slightly, but clear, and the buzz of her throat had him melting further against her. “We can wrestle. Give you somethin’ rough for that head of yours to work with!”

He hummed loudly, enjoying the way it felt in his chest. Wrestling sounded good. It sounded perfect, if he wasn’t still riding the end of a shutdown. It was a few more minutes before she finally put him back on the ground. He tilted for a second, adjusting to where he was in space as she stepped back. “Alright, my arms are tired, but I think someone else wants a turn-”

Arms looped around him from behind, and someone far taller than him swung Oscar upwards and in a circle like how Nora had. Oscar couldn’t help but laugh, hands flying up to keep his headphones in place, and then Jaune’s chin rested on his shoulder and Oscar hung from his arms before squirming to be let down.

When his brother obliged, Oscar turned in his arms to hide in Jaune’s hoodie. The fabric - it smelled so good and strong and familiar, like the detergent they all used and coffee and wood, and he breathed it in until he was almost lightheaded. Jaune pressed a kiss to the top of his head, before running his fingernails along Oscar’s scalp. “Do you wanna go sit on the couch? I think the others have a movie going, now.”

Yeah. He could do that. He wiggled an arm free to flash a thumbs up, only stepping away from the hug when Jaune did. Oscar shivered in place at the loss of contact, until Jaune laid a hand heavy on the back of his neck and his eyes slipped half-closed. His thumb stroked steady across Oscar’s hairline, and the boy let out something between a sigh and a hum. “That’s pretty-” Oscar shot him a look. “-cute,” Jaune finished weakly, looking barely intimidated at all, and Oscar rolled his eyes. “Aw, c’mon. I think I’m allowed that.”

Oscar held his index and thumb close. Then pressed them together. Jaune pouted. Nora let out a barking laugh.

* * *

When they came to the couch, there were two spots open in the pile of teenagers and a conveniently Oscar-shaped hole in the center of it all. Jaune stepped over, legs long enough to avoid stomping on a stray hand or someone’s hair - he reached over to help Oscar hop over, then Nora, and then-

Oscar settled into his spot and all the air in his lungs left him in one long, contented sigh. The warmth, the pressure, the feeling of _safety_ \- it was, together, finally _enough_. Or, close to it. The only way to chase away the last of the haze was sleep.

But this? This came very close, and his eyes watered.

A hand, rubbing up and down his upper arm. “You okay?” Jaune’s blue eyes reflected nothing but the image of the television screen in the low light. Oscar shifted to roll directly into his arms and nod against his collarbone. “Still no voice?” Then Jaune froze. “Not that I want you to make yourself talk. It’s fine if-”

Oscar laughed sleepily, letting his eyes fall shut. “S’okay,” he whispered. “Just a little voice.”

“Okay.” His brother’s sigh ruffled his hair lightly. “Okay. You’re okay.”

“M’okay,” he agreed. “Shh. Movie.” Jaune only laughed and pressed his cheek to the top of Oscar’s head.

The movie was mostly over by the time he’d mostly come back to himself, more alert after drifting for nearly an hour, calm and anchored by the contact on all sides and the sounds of everyone’s quiet breathing combined with the bursts of gunfire from whatever action movie Yang had insisted on.

No one’s attention was on him, everyone either caught up in the ridiculously bloody plotline (Yang and Ruby) or dozing (everyone else). So he reached out into that space where his thoughts mingled with Ozpin’s, gentle and weary. _Oz?_ Barely a movement. Oscar felt a momentary panic flare in his chest. “Oz?”

_Sorry, sorry_. And then there was Ozpin’s presence, and he was close, and it was like taking the hand of someone whose fingers fit perfectly with yours. Oscar relaxed. _Still...incredibly worn out, I must admit_.

“That’s okay. Just wanted to check on you.” Oz shifted a little brighter, caught up in an emotion that almost brought tears to Oscar’s eyes. “You’re stuck with me, remember?” A crack in Ozpin’s fatigue, a flash of humor. Oscar chuckled and sat up, yawning, before yelping and flinching back. Not even two feet away, Ruby stared back, silver eyes eerily bright in the dark. “Oh, just you. Sorry, Ruby.”

She blinked in confusion before cracking a smile tinged with concern. “I heard you talking and figured you’d woken up.” She settled a bit, but he knew her and he knew all the questions burning under the surface. “Are you...okay? After earlier?”

“Yeah, now I am. It usually…” He rubbed the back of his neck, tone climbing in pitch. “-doesn’t get? This bad?”

Ruby nodded, face set with understanding. “Blake explained some of it, I think. It’s just…?”

“Sometimes I just don’t get enough sensory input,” he explained. “And it’s hard to stay grounded, I guess? If that makes sense. But contact and other stuff, loud stuff? It helps.” He paused, grasping for the words. “I’ll probably sleep in tomorrow, if I’m honest. I think…” He bit back a yawn. “I think Oz is tired, too. It’s bad enough not getting enough input when you’re in the driver’s seat. I haven’t heard much from him today at all.”

“Is he okay?” Ruby’s concern was bright and genuine, and warmth stirred at the sound of it. Oscar took a moment to translate.

“He will be,” he settled on, and smiled softly back. “He appreciates the concern. And...oh. He’s asleep again.”

A hand landed on the top of his head from out of nowhere, sending a jolt of adrenaline down his spine. “Past your bedtime too, pipsqueak.”

Oscar twisted in place, eyes wide. “Qrow?”

“I leave you kids for a few _hours_ , I swear.” His eyes softened. “Feelin’ better?”

The boy nodded, pressing up into the touch. “Exhausted,” he mumbled, sighing when Qrow moved away, but the man only crossed his arms.

“Well, c’mon. Bed.” Oh. Oscar hopped over the back of the couch - ignoring Ren’s half-protest at the danger - and tucked himself against Qrow’s side. “Need help with your bandages?”

“I-” He paused, looking down at his hands, realizing how _wrong_ they felt when loose like they were at the moment. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Qrow snorted and helped him jump up on the bathroom counter, cupping a hand against the crown of Oscar’s head to protect him as he opened the nearby medicine cabinet. “Don’t mention it.”

He worked in silence, completely unravelling the old ones before digging around for - ah, these were new. Oscar took the fabric between his fingers, rubbing it, and it was...both soft and sturdy, weighted enough to give him feedback but not too stiff as to restrict his movements. “For me?” Oscar asked quietly. He couldn’t make eye contact, suddenly, shoulders itching.

“Course, kid. The old ones are gettin’...old. Figured you need something that’ll stand up to more mobility and won’t just come undone all the time.” Qrow gently took the roll back, then captured Oscar’s hand in his. “Tell me if it’s too tight, got it?” Oscar jerked a nod, unable to silence a shaky smile as Qrow began to wind. His hand was warm on Oscar’s wrist, his movements repetitive and smooth, and Oscar felt himself tilt forwards to press his forehead to Qrow’s shoulder. “Comfy?” The man remarked dryly.

Oscar grinned, shifting back to rock forwards and bonk his head into Qrow’s shoulder again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Qrow let him, taking a half-step forwards so he wouldn’t go toppling off the counter. “You sure do keep yourself entertained, huh?”

Oscar knew it for the teasing it was. “Gotta somehow,” he replied, only stilling so Qrow could wrap his neck. The weight of the fabric against his pulse point and collarbones - he exhaled with relief. Now this was _much_ better. “ _Thank you_ ,” he breathed. “Geez.”

“Yeah, yeah. Repay me by goin’ to bed now.” Oscar hopped down, stumbling forwards into Qrow’s arms before righting himself. “You wanna sleep in what you’re wearing or do you want something else?”

Oscar flexed his shoulders. Now that he was heading to bed, the idea of something heavy _and_ his quilts seemed too much. “Thin?” He supplied. “Big?”

Qrow leveled him with a look. “Jaune’s shirt?” Oscar’s face split with a grin. “Jaune’s shirt.”

“You’re so lucky he’s a softie like that,” the man muttered and flicked off the bathroom light behind them. “One stolen shirt, coming right up. You. Bed. Back in a second.”

Oscar flopped onto his bed, melting against the soft surface. Yeah, the bad days sucked, but to be taken care of so thoroughly for issues he’d always struggled with having in the first place?

He hid his tears and smile in his pillow. It helped. It helped so _much_.


End file.
